


Everything We Used To Know

by foreverfelicityqueen (stydiasredstring)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Season 6 Spoilers, Soulmate AU, a little fluff, season 6 spec
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 22:35:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8031592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stydiasredstring/pseuds/foreverfelicityqueen
Summary: It's been weeks since Stiles was taken, and Lydia's had enough of doing nothing. She's determined to bring him back, even if she has to do it on her own.





	Everything We Used To Know

**Author's Note:**

> This story came from an article I read about soulmates, where I was marking off everything being related back to Stydia. And we both realized that every bullet point fit with canon, except for past lives. And this was born. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy. If you want, please let me know what you think

_ She loved sitting by the well, a sketchbook in hand as she watched the carriages moving along around her. Oddly she found more quiet and peace in the center of her bustling village than she could in the secluded forest near her home.  _

**_You know why_ ** _. The voice in the back of her head whispered. But that was her voice. She knew that much. The other only came when she was alone, and only when they wanted her to find someone. Though she never managed to to reach one before they lost their final breath. Not once.  _

_ She knew what the others said. How they avoided coming near her at all costs. Harbinger, they would whisper like she couldn’t hear. Like she was responsible for the deaths. Like she’d caused them. But she hadn’t, she couldn’t have. She’d just found the bodies. Though she knew there were more, deep in the woods, decaying as she sat there. But she couldn’t lead anyone else out there. She couldn’t let the rumors grow.  _

_ She heard the commotion long before she saw the stallion crest the hill. But even the deep chocolate colored horse couldn’t hold her attention for long. Not when she caught sight of the man sitting atop it.  _

_ It was rare for new faces to come to their village. Even on trading days, it was always the same tired people, from the same nearby spots. But as sure as she knew her own name, she had never seen this man before.  _

_ He was coming closer now, stopping his horse just at the edge of the street. And she couldn’t help but drop her gaze, feeling foolish for staring as long as she had. It was another reason why people found her strange. Always watching things, observing and absorbing them all.  _

_ “Hello miss,” his voice was soft as he spoke. And she wondered just how many people trusted him just from that. She knew she did. Two words from his mouth and she already knew he could never lie to her. _

_ But his words had been directed at her. And it took her far longer than socially acceptable to reply. Her face becoming heated with a blush. “Apologies, sir. Hello.” _

_ He didn’t seem offended, in fact her words just brought a smile to his face.  _ _ One that lit up his amber eyes.  _ _ She’d never seen anyone with eyes so clear.  _

_ “It’s a fine day to be outside,” he said glancing around.  _ _ “Would you mind if I took some water from your well? It was a bit of a long ride.” _

_ “Oh, yes of course,” she gestured to the bucket at her feet. “Help yourself.” _

_ “Thank you.” He was still smiling at her as his eyes tracked every movement she made.  _

_ He seemed just as transfixed by her as she was with him. _ _ But that was impossible wasn’t it? No one ever looked at her more than once. Not unless they were making sure she was still far from them.  _

_ She felt self conscious, with his gaze there. Even if she relished the pleasant hum of the village, she needed to go home and to  _ _ get out from under the stranger’s watchful eyes. _ _ It’s not that she thought him to be dangerous, nothing like that. But he was a whole new kind of feeling, one she’d never quite encountered before. _

_ “Safe travels, sir,” _ _ she said as she pushed herself off the stone edge of the well. “May you reach your destination safely.” _

_ “I think I have,” he replied. _

_ He was holding his hand out for hers, something she wasn’t accustomed to. At least not outside of a ball or when her father dragged her along to boring dinner parties. But still something of the stranger compelled her to give in.  _

_ She let her fingers settle against his palm and she felt it. Like a spark had jolted through her. _

\---

Lydia bolted upright in her chair. Her brain trying to play catch up as much as possible. 

She was in the middle of town. No? That wasn’t right. She was at school. This was school right? Scott sat to her left, shooting her a questioning look, while Coach Finstock rambled on about something in the front of class.

There had been a well. She could still feel the stones beneath her fingers from when she pushed off its edge. And the stranger.  _ Stiles _ . She knew it had been him. She could feel it. But also not Stiles? It was like her brain had become mud and she was trying to wade through it in six inch heels. 

It had been a dream, even if she hadn’t remembered drifting off. But that’s all it was. She was stressed about Stiles, about where he was, and why they’d taken him. She knew the rest of her friends were worried for her, especially Scott. She’d told them all about Stiles, about how much he meant to all of them, but none of them had started to remember. And Lydia was left with a constant ache, like someone had carved a chunk of her out and left the wound open. 

So she’d been thinking about Stiles, and she dreamed him into her head. That’s all it was. But still she couldn’t help but wonder why she still felt the prickling electricity of his hand in hers. Or why her cheeks were still warm from the blush that had crept there. Why had a dream left her feeling so many things if it had all been in her head?

Lydia flinched when the bell sounded. It was almost like the sound itself was out of sync with what she thought it should be. Like she was expecting something low and dramatic, and got something out of a sound effects folder. 

“Are you alright?” Scott was still staring at her, concern and confusion in a swirling mix on his face. 

“I just dozed off,” she replied, feeling a defensive wall lock into place. “Just because you and the the rest of the lacrosse team find the man riveting, doesn’t mean his rants aren’t borderline coma inducing.”

She grabbed her stuff, and moved towards the door, but Scott’s arm pulled on her to stay. “Lydia you weren’t sleeping. It was like you were in some kind of trance. I tried getting your attention like six times. Nothing.”

She tried to hide the terror that spread through her.  It wasn’t the first time she’d ever zoned out completely in class, wildly imaging things that couldn’t be. That time had led her down a dark and dangerous road. It had driven her crazy. 

“I don’t know what memory you were focused on, but it seemed like you were really enjoying it,” he said, shuffling his feet. 

Lydia knew that look. That was Scott’s ‘chemosignals just come to me and sometimes I can’t avoid them’ look.

“What did you--” she cut herself off. Because the middle of school was not the place to be talking about this.

“We’re alone, everyone’s gone to lunch,” he said tapping his ear with a smirk. “Lydia if this is about Stiles.”

“Don’t.” She hated the look he was giving her now. It was the same one he would give her everyday. She knew Scott was a good person. That he cared for his friends as deeply as his heart would allow. And she knew he wanted to remember, that not knowing a thing about his best friend, was an indescribable pain. 

But what Lydia felt was isolating. There she was with the answers to Scott’s questions without a  single clue of how to give them to him. Words weren’t working. They’d done nothing but leave everyone frustrated after she told them things. So for now she held it in, she held Stiles in. And because of that she wasn’t sure where she could fit. She felt like she had two souls inside her, and no proper place to put the second one. 

“You’re not alone, Lydia. We want to help you, I want to help.”

“I know that. What do you want me to say Scott? That I’m okay? That I don’t think about a person apparently everyone has forgotten? That I don’t wake up every morning and make myself run through a list of things about him, just to make sure I haven’t lost a little bit of something?” she paused, taking in a breath. “And I’m left to wonder if the longer he’s gone, if he’ll just fade from me too. So if you want to help. Find me something on those bastards that took him. Help me bring him home.”

“Deaton’s working on it.”

“Funny how Deaton’s only working on something when we’re already knee deep in trouble.”

When she walked away that time, Scott didn’t try and stop her. He knew when to pick his battles, and he was smart not to fight her too much on this. 

Scott had put his trust and faith in Deaton, and that had always worked before. Until it hadn’t. Until Stiles got possessed and Allison was murdered. She knew the emissary cared for the pack. But she had trouble trusting someone who didn’t know the stakes of what they’d lose if they didn’t get Stiles back. So Lydia made a choice. If she couldn’t fully trust Deaton on this, she’d go to the only other emissary she knew for help. She just hoped Morrell would be willing to help.

\---

_ “That was too close,” she insisted as she bolted the large door into place. “Why must we have this talk every night.  _ _ You’re too reckless with your tricks.” _

_ He was looking at her now, fully aware of how upset she truly was. “Darling, no one saw. I know what risks to take and when they are safe.” _

_ “But that man was in the audience tonight,” she pressed on, folding her arms across her chest. “He was watching you. And if he thinks for a moment that what you do is not some parlor trick then--” _

_ He cut her off, pressing his palm in hers. “You worry too much. That man wouldn’t know real magic if it happened right in front of his face. He’s just here to scare the town, make them suspicious of their neighbors. We’re fine.” _

_ She believed him. Of course she did. He always had a way about him that could calm her down from any frenzied thought. And she liked to believe she did the same for him. Always trusting in each other.  _

_ She leaned further into him, resting her head against his shoulder. “I cannot lose you. You know I wouldn’t survive if they ever took you away for this. Promise me you’ll be more careful.” _

_ “Love, I promise you there is not a force in this world or the next that could ever take me from your side.” He pressed a kiss to her temple, and the warmth it gave spread through her. “You are never going to lose me. I won’t allow it.” _

_ Somehow she knew it was the truth. She knew that no matter what things came for them, what darkness descended the skies, she and he would stay intertwined always.  _

_ She smiled at him, taking his hand to place it over her heart. “I love you more than anything that could ever dream to keep us apart.” _

_ “I love you with every fiber in me,” he replied. _

_ He leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a fevered rush. And the pressure was electric, coursing through her to every end.  _

\---

“Lydia?” 

She jumped when she heard her name, eyes snapping back into focus. The last thing she remembered was leaving class, but she wasn’t at the school. No, she knew the vibrations this place was giving off, and she felt betrayed by the force bringing her here.

“Ms. Morrell,” she said, not wanting to brush against the walls. Everything in Eichen House echoed back with the voices of those who’d died within.  Every heartbreaking, gut wrenching thing  she could think of from the last few years could all tie back to this place. She had never hated something built out of bricks more. 

“Did we have an appointment?” Morrell was watching her carefully. It was the first time Lydia had ever noticed the family resemblance to Deaton. Both could look at you with the same intense gaze. But where Deaton’s would soften when he realized they were all just kids, Marin Morrell seemed to hold her guard, never quite underestimating their strengths. 

She hadn’t thought this out, she didn’t even know how much Morrell knew about the current Beacon Hills threat. Maybe she would be just as in the dark as the rest of them. But Lydia was running out of options. Every second she wasted debating, was another second she had to live in a world without Stiles. And she didn’t know how many more of those she could take without breaking.

“No,” Lydia said, feeling her back straighten. Eichen House only held power over her if she let it. And she was over letting things control her like that. “But I was hoping you’d make an exception for a former student.”

“Of course.” She smiled at Lydia, opening her office door. “Please come in.”

Morrell waited for Lydia to cross into her office, before she pulled the door shut behind her. 

“I must admit, I didn’t expect to see you again. It’s been a long time since I taught at Beacon Hills.” 

Lydia used to put on a character every morning. She used to make sure every aspect of her appearance was an outward reflection of the person she wanted the world to see. So she knew better than most, when someone was putting on an act. And she was pretty good at spotting the reason why.

“Is me being here making you uncomfortable, Ms. Morrell?” she asked, arching a brow towards the former emissary. 

“I’m just curious as to why a member of the McCall pack is here in my office,” she replied, making the move to lean against her desk. “Your alpha has earned quite the name for himself, as have the rest of you. Taking out the Dread Doctors and the beast of  Gévaudan. Things like that make it very likely no one wants to cross any one of you. Scott should be proud.”

“I’m not here about Scott,” Lydia replied. “Do you know what’s going on right now? Did Deaton tell you?”

“I don’t need my big brother telling me anything, I’ve been doing this for as long as he has.” She turned from Lydia just long enough to sit at her desk, motioning to the empty seat in front of her. “The Wild Hunt is well underway.”

“I need to know how to stop it.” She hadn’t come to mince words. If Morrell knew anything of importance, Lydia would get her to spill. “People are in trouble.”

Lydia could feel the intensity of the woman’s gaze again. “It’s always been interesting to me just how much someone can say without really saying it.”

“I didn’t come here to play games.”

“But you also didn’t come for someone to hold your hand and tell you everything was going to be alright. You’re not naive enough for that Lydia,” she said as she folded her hands atop her desk. “You know what the supernatural world can take from us. You know better than anyone that sometimes wanting to save someone can’t compete against the darkness.”

“This time it’s going to.” She couldn’t keep the edge out of her voice, as she felt a low vibration from her throat. But she wouldn’t use her powers. “This time the darkness isn’t going to win. Because he doesn’t deserve that.”

Morrell’s eyes ticked up to meet Lydia’s. “Who?”

She realized her mistake as another image of Stiles flooded her mind. His smile glowed in her memory and it was nearly impossible to keep one off her own face. But she managed it enough to clear her throat.

“They took someone,” she said, feeling her resolve waiver slightly, but if Morrell held answers, then she had to continue. For Stiles. “Someone who means too much to the pack. He was-- he is the glue that holds us all together. And I don’t care about some stupid mystical balance. Stiles isn’t just some expendable person that the whole world can forget and move on from. He’s too important.”

It was quiet for a while, Lydia taking the break in speech to let her breathing return to normal. The whole time Morrell was thinking. Lydia could always recognize when someone was lost in an internal struggle.

“You remember?” It felt like it should be a statement, considering she’d just laid it out for the counselor, but something in Morrell’s voice hinted at confusion. “How much do you remember?”

“What does that have to do with finding him?”

“It could have everything to do with it,” she replied. “Lydia how much do you remember about this Stiles?”

“Everything,” she said, even though she wasn’t sure how that was even possible. “I remember everything.”

Morrell nodded once as she stood up, striding over to a bookcase full of leather bound volumes. She pulled a thick book from the collection,  its gold binding glinting in the light fading through the window, and opened it. She seemed to know exactly what she was looking for because it didn’t take her long to cease flipping through, as she landed on a page. 

Lydia couldn’t see it from where she was sitting. But she could see Morrell’s face, and the look of astonishment that settled there. 

“What is it?”

She turned back to Lydia, holding the book to her chest. “Why do you think you remember him when no one else does? I mean I assume that no one else in the pack remembers. Why do you think that is?”

Lydia hadn’t given it much thought, not really, but something about Morrell’s voice told her no matter what answer she gave it was probably going to be wrong. Still, she did have an answer. “Because I’m a banshee.”

“A banshee predicts death Lydia, sometimes they can focus their screams into a weapon, but they're not immune to magic. Not when it has the power to change the entire world.”

“Then how?” She could see Morrell was enjoying this. Not maliciously, but some part of her was reveling in being back in the game, no matter how short a time it might be. “How could I possibly remember him?”

“The only way to counter power as strong as this, is to have something stronger. A connection that not even the fates themselves could risk tearing through.”

“An emotional tether,” Lydia whispered, the phrase pulsing through her skull.

Morrell smiled at her. “A soulmate.”

\---

_ It wasn’t supposed to end like this. They had plans, a life they were going to build together. This wasn’t the end of their story, it couldn’t be. _

_ “You have to hang on,” she pleaded, gathering his head in her lap. “Okay? The doctors will be here soon. Just stay.” _

_ She had felt this coming of course. The dread had grown in her all day long, until she could no longer hold back the scream. And once her voice silenced and the raw pain settled in, she knew.  _

_ She’d raced through the streets, pushing against the crowds running the opposite direction. She heard the clipped phrases the more she moved. An attack, a bomb? Whatever it was there were people hurt.  _ **_He_ ** _ was hurt. She knew it. She knew what was going to come if she didn’t get to him before then.  _

_ “Talk to me, please,” her voice broke as she shook his shoulders. “I can’t lose you.” _

_ He stirred a little, his eyes focusing only on her. He reached his hand up to cup the side of her face. “Don’t cry love. Smile for me, so it’s the last thing I see.” _

_ “You’re going to be okay,” she said again. “So I don’t have to worry about that. Because you’re okay.” _

_ “We both know that’s not true,” he whispered, and she could see the pain as he tried to move. _

**_No. No. No._ ** _ This wasn’t supposed to happen. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. You and me forever. That’s what you told me. How can we have forever if you… Please hold on. I can’t, I can’t do this without you.” _

_ “Silly girl.” He was fading. She could see it in his eyes. “Forever is a long time, and we still have that. This is just a delay.” _

_ “No,” she whispered, as she leaned her forehead against his.  _

_ “I love you.” He was struggling to continue, she could hear it in his breathing.  _

_ She pulled back to look in his eyes, eyes that once looked so bright and full of life. But now they looked dull and distant.  _

_ She smiled down at him, even though everything in her threatened to break. She would give him this. With one final kiss to his lips she whispered. “I love you too.” _

\---

Lydia nearly screamed when she came out of it. Her chest ached and heaved with the images that burned in her head.  _ It wasn’t Stiles _ . She kept chanting in her head. Not really. She had to remember that. Even after a couple seconds of that the only thing that calmed her down was the weight of Sheriff Stilinski’s hand on her shoulder. 

She had been vaguely aware when Morrell drove them to the animal clinic. But everything after the engine cutting was a blur. 

She looked around the room landing on the corner where her friends sat. Liam, Hayden, and Mason were huddled close together, talking in low voices. She looked around for Scott, but he didn’t seem to be in the room.

“He’s in the other room with Alan and Marin,” the sheriff said, giving her a smile. “She’s been filling us in on, well on what she knows.”

Lydia nodded, as she rubbed her hands down her pants as hard as she could. She could see them, she knew how clean they were. But a part of her still felt his blood there, seeping into her skin and hurting worse than anything she could imagine. 

“Lydia I… I wanted to ask you…” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair.

She couldn’t help but smile as she remembered Stiles doing the same thing, his face scrunching up the same way.

“About Stiles?” She bridged the subject with as much ease as she could. But feeling his name sitting in the air between them only brought back the imagine of his head in her lap. “You still don’t remember do you?”

“Not really no.” She could hear the hurt in his voice, the guilt hanging there like a cloud. “I don’t remember specifics. But I’ll feel it sometimes, like a memory hanging right there out of reach. I know it’s him. But I can’t latch onto it.”

“He’s smart,” she replied, not even sure where she was finding the strength to talk about him. “So smart. But unconventional about it. Like he could literally rattle off a thousand facts about werewolves or human sacrifices. But if it doesn’t interest him he won’t bother keeping it in his head.

“And he cares so much for the people in his life. I mean once you get the Stiles seal of approval you pretty much have him in your corner no matter what.” 

She was living proof of her words. For the longest time he was there, hovering on the fringe of her life. She’d be lying if she said she’d never noticed him. He was a hyper mess of limbs and sarcasm, but she was Lydia Martin, and even thinking of associating with someone outside her circle would have been frowned upon. But then their worlds shifted, and they were suddenly occupying the same space and time. A person she once saw as being on the outside of her world, was muddled up in the middle of it. 

He was irritating but even in those early days, when all Lydia wanted to do was shut him up, she admired Stiles. The way he was with Scott, the loyalty and love he showed for the people closest to him, she wasn’t shallow enough not to see the strength in that. 

Something always seemed to be drawing them back together.  _ Soulmates _ . Morrell’s voice echoed in her head. But she was resisting it. She’d spent so much time not defining her and Stiles, feeling like there couldn’t possibly be a word that described them. Did she even want a definition? If you name something, doesn’t it lose it’s power? Doesn’t it lose that bit that makes it special? 

“You really care about him, huh?” 

The sheriff was looking at her, a knowing smile on his face. But she couldn’t meet his gaze. “He’s my best friend.”

But it was more. She felt it every time she looked at him and his perfect eyes were looking back at her. It was in every word he spoke and every hand touch. Stiles may have fallen for her first, but she’d come crashing down just as hard. But did that make them  _ soulmates? _ Maybe, maybe not. All that mattered was getting Stiles home.

“What’s the plan?” she asked when Scott returned, followed by Deaton and Morrell. “How are we going to find Stiles?”

Deaton looked at his sister and then back to Lydia. “We’re still weighing options.”

“Weighing options? How can you be weighing options, when a person’s life, a friend’s life, is at stake?” 

She must have been glaring at the man, because he took a small step back, before he spoke again. “We’re in uncharted territory here. No one has ever tried to disrupt the Wild Hunt, not ever. This could be dangerous, and not just for you or the rest of the pack, but for the entire town.”

“I don’t care.” She’d said the words before, but the resolve she felt now was something else entirely. She’d go to the end of the world for him. And she didn’t care who stood in the way. “Stiles has saved my life more times than I can count. He’s saved everyone in this room. We’d all be dead ten times over if it wasn’t for him. So I’m telling you, I don’t care about the risk.”

“That’s what I told him,” Scott said, coming to stand next to Lydia and the Sheriff. “This is about the pack. So it has to be a pack decision. I trust you, Lydia. I may not remember him, but I want my friend back too.”

“And we’re with Scott no matter what,” Liam said, standing up with a nod. 

Scott was looking at Lydia with a sad smile, and she knew he was thinking about Allison. Thinking about what he’d give just to have her back. That’s why he’s agreeing. Because even Scott could see that Lydia was lost without Stiles. 

“We’re gonna get him back,” he said, squeezing her shoulder. 

“You’re half right,” Morrell said, drawing the attention back to her. “This isn’t a waltz at your prom, Scott. There’s no rhythm or road map to follow. If you want your friend back you have to be willing to fight the darkness, and hold it off until Lydia can pull him back.”

“I thought you said no one had done this before,” Stilinski crossed his arms, giving her a skeptical look.

“No one has,” Deaton interjected, his facial expressions bordering on annoyed. “What Marin’s talking about is a completely untested theory. And I think at this stage of things we should base our choices on a little more than hunches.”

“What’s your theory?” Scott asked, his tone trying to keep the peace.

Morrell looked at her, before she spoke. “Lydia and Stiles have a connection. That’s why she still remembers him.”

“Or her banshee powers have grown exponentially and she’s latched on to him because he’s in between life and death.”

Morrell shot her brother a look before she continued. “It’s stronger than her banshee powers. Everyone is supposed to forget. Everyone. That’s the rules of the Wild Hunt. But Lydia remembers. She remembers because there’s a part of her that can’t forget. No matter what magic they cast.”

“None of this explains how we’re going to find my son,” Stilinski said. “How do we find Stiles, if none of us remember him? These riders aren’t just going to lead us to where they’re keeping him.”

“No they won’t,” Deaton replied. “But regardless of why she remembers him, Lydia is still the strongest link to Stiles. Given her banshee powers she could, theoretically, bridge the gap between here and where he is.”

“While the rest of the pack distracts the riders,” Morrell added, as the rest of the room gave her a skeptical look. “I’m aware of how it sounds. But if Lydia’s going to pull Stiles back she’s going to need the ghost riders kept busy, busy enough for her to slip into the void.”

Lydia listened as best she could, but her mind kept wandering back to Stiles. She didn’t know how, but she felt how alone he was, how bleak he saw the future turning. She needed to fix it. She needed him to know that someone was coming for him, that she was coming for him. 

“Lydia,” Morrell said, catching her gaze. “Are you ready?”

She didn’t even have to think about it before she nodded. She was bringing Stiles home. No matter the cost.

\---

_ “Can I ask you a question?”  _

_ Stiles had just returned from the kitchen with his plate overflowing with food. But he managed to look at her so intensely, she almost looked away. _

_ “You can ask me anything,” he replied, setting the plate down on the edge of the desk. Lydia only gave it a small glance before she moved it further in. “Shoot.” _

_ “Why haven’t you opened any of your college acceptance letters yet?” She gently placed her hand over the pile of mail. _

_ “Oh so you noticed those?” _

_ “The three inch stack sitting in plain view on your desk? Yeah I noticed.” _

_ Stiles was uncharacteristically quiet as he grabbed his free chair, pulling it over to her. When he sat their knees brushed each other. She was starting to crave these little touches more than anything else.  _

_ “Stiles?” _

_ He looked up from his hands, and there is was again. The electric charge that emitted from his gaze and resonated along her spine.  _

_ “I don’t know what they say,” he replied with a shrug. “For all I know, it’s a stack of rejection letters.”  _

_ “Given your GPA and your SAT scores, that’s statistically unlikely,” she prodded, reaching out to take his hand in hers. “If you’re worried about the money, I’m sure you can get scholarships.” _

_ “It’s not the money,” he said with a shake of his head. He reached across her grabbing the letter  _ _ from  _ _ the top of the stack. “This one came first.” _

_ “Columbia?” she furrowed her brow as she read the typeface. “What happened to your whole ‘stay on the west coast as a pack’ plan?” _

_ “I applied after what happened to Donovan.” And he looked ashamed admitting it. “I just wanted options. Some way to escape if I needed it. But after I applied to Columbia, the advisor recommended I apply to a few more on the east coast. NYU, Vassar, Yale. They all replied before Stanford.” _

_ “Stiles that’s amazing. Do you know how many  _ _ students  _ _ get turned down from these schools every year?” _

_ “I’m aware of the numbers, I just,” he took a breath before he looked down at the letter. “I’m not like you okay? I can’t look at these letters and think positive. I see this and I think ‘this is it’ my entire future, down to a few ground up, pulped out trees. And what if this says no.” _

_ “Can I be honest with you?” She pulled the envelope from his hand. _

_ “You usually are.” _

_ “I don’t think you’re worried that this has rejection stamped across it,” she said as she laced their fingers.  _

_ “You don’t?” _

_ “Nope. I think you’re worried that every one of those is going to say yes, except one. That you’re going to have unlimited options, but not the one you were hoping for.” _

_ “I came up with the plan,” his voice was barely under above a whisper. “I was the one who kept fighting for all of us to stay together. How’s it going to look if I’m the first one who books it out of here? I can’t do that to Scott, or to you.” _

_ “Scott’s your best friend and he wants you to have the best future possible.” She knew their friend well enough to know the only response Scott could have was pride and happiness for his best friend. But Scott’s not the only person he was worried about. She’d heard his amendment there. And considering he was trying not to meet her eyes, she knew where his fears truly led. To her. Somehow through all the tragedy, through all the pain and darkness, and the mundane, it always ended back on the two of them.  _

_ “I don’t tell you this a lot,” she said, rolling her eyes when he looked up with interest. “Okay or ever, but you’re one of my favorite people. Probably my best friend. So believe me when I tell you that four years away at college, it won’t change that.” _

_ He leaned it a little, and Lydia could feel her heart thudding against her chest. She had never wanted someone to kiss her more in her life. And when Stiles pushed a little closer she let her eyes slip shut. But his lips didn’t brush hers. Instead they pressed low on her cheek, what could technically be considered her jaw, before he pulled back.  _

_ “Thank you,” he said as the blush rose in his face.  _

_ Lydia couldn’t help but press her unused lips in on themselves. “Any time.” _

_ “Next time a night out,” he countered, sending her a smile. “Better chance at food that isn’t leftover.” _

_ “You asking me out on a date, Stiles?”  _

_ It had been a joke. But the second the words left her, she wanted them to be true.  _

_ He cocked his head towards her, his grin turning mischievous. “What if I was, hypothetically speaking?” _

_ “Hypothetically?” she raised a brow, which only made him laugh. “Well in the interest of science, I would have to conclude that the only way to truly test a hypothesis is with practical application.” _

_ She thought they were playing a game, that any minute Stiles was going to shrug this off like they’d done so many other times when they got too close to defining whatever was happening between them. But instead Stiles did something that surprised her.  _

_ “Lydia Martin, would you like to go out with me next Friday?” _

_ She had imagined it, right? Stiles couldn’t be sitting in front of her asking her out. Except he was. And every second she didn’t answer his face fell a little. _

_ “Yes,” she replied. And she was sure she could look into those eyes forever. “I would love to go out with you.” _

\---

_ We never got that Friday,  _ she thought as she tried to hold the memory close to her. It was the first time that day she’d remembered something about her and Stiles. Something that she knew belonged to just them. The other memories were there too, swimming alongside each other. She knew they were real. Somehow she knew that they had happened, and had happened in someway to her. Maybe long ago. But they were worth holding onto if it meant bringing Stiles back.

Morrell had told her she’d know what to do. That the others would surround the perimeter, and leave Lydia to bring back Stiles. But Lydia was starting to doubt the counselor. She wanted to bring him home. She wanted that more than anything in the world. But just like her banshee powers, she didn’t know how or what to trigger, to reach him. She felt like a ship floating the ocean without sails. Stiles had been her sails. He’d always given her the strength she needed to believe in herself. She would be nowhere without Stiles’ help and guidance.

“You can do this,” she whispered, taking in a deep breath.  She used all she had to conjure an image of Stiles before her, trying to guide her mind to where he was. “ _ For Stiles _ .”

Things began to bend around her. Like someone had taken a photo and shook it back and forth. She nearly lost her balance when the world righted again. 

Only things weren’t right when she looked around. She wasn’t standing in the abandoned building off King Street anymore. Now it looked more like she was in a train station, on an old television show. All the colors muted, like the people around her. They stared forward, their eyes dull and unblinking. Lost souls was the only way she could describe them. And for one long minute she feared this was how she’d find Stiles. A vacant shell of the man she cared for. 

“Stiles,” she called out, her voice echoed through the dim room, returning to her with a cold and sorrowful ache. “Stiles please. Where are you?”

“I’m afraid you won’t find him here.”

She froze in place. That voice sending shockwaves of fear and anger through her. She’d forgotten it when the Wild Hunt had started. A quaint peace that she hadn’t been able to place. But now the truth crashed around her, and she felt the same chill that had settled into her gut from the moment she was left for dead on the lacrosse field. 

“Peter.”

“You remember me, I’m touched.”

“What are you doing here?” She took a deliberate step back, not out of fear, but out of advantage. He could overpower her if she was too close. At least with distance she’d have time to react. 

“The question is what are you doing here?” His smirk made her skin crawl. “You don’t belong here, Lydia. So why don’t you do everyone a favor and just let Stiles go.”

“Why do you care?” She could see it in the way he looked over her shoulder, like he was waiting for someone to come. “What do you get out of Stiles being here?”

“You think I get something out of this?” he scoffed as he began walking. “I’m just trying to keep things in their natural order.”

Lydia wouldn’t turn her back to him.  Every step he took she made the same move in reverse. “You never do anything unless there’s something in it for you. So don’t give me that crap about natural order.”

“You caught me,” he said holding his hands up. “You and I are a lot alike.”

“I’m nothing like you.”

“Really?” he inched closer, his smile fading into a thin line. “Seems pretty selfish to put your entire town in jeopardy to save one person. Come on Lydia, is Stiles really worth the entire population of Beacon Hills? Because you know what happens when the ghost riders don’t get to complete their hunt? You know what screwing with their plans does? It throws the world into chaos. The kind that leads to hell on earth. And you’re willing to risk all that for one guy.”

She could feel the seconds slipping through her fingers. Every minute Peter distracted her was another minute Stiles was lost. She wouldn’t lose him because of Peter Hale.

“Hell on earth doesn’t appeal to you?” She watched him closely, looking for a point of weakness in his words. If she could find it, she could get him to lead her to Stiles. “I thought all you cared about was wreaking havoc.”

“Come on Lydia, you know me better than that. All I’ve ever wanted was that which was rightfully mine. But now I’m stuck here,” he gestured to the space around them. “I’ve become another cog in the machine, like all the others. Everyone here, has been forgotten there. And that’s the way it needs to be.”

“No,” she replied. The strength in her voice surprised her as she stood taller. “I’m not leaving here without him. I don’t care if I have to fight off every ghost rider myself. He doesn’t belong here.”

“Yes he does,” he said as he shrugged. “But seeing as how you won’t believe me without proof. I’ll show you.”

Lydia took another step back, but Peter wasn’t reaching for her. He had turned on his heels, walking down along the edge of the platform. She didn’t trust him. She knew better than to do that. But she did know that Peter liked to play games. And he would always show his hand instead of revealing a strategy for it. So he could know where Stiles was. And that was all that mattered to her. 

She followed behind him, keeping a good distance as they walked. The longer she was here the more abandoned she felt, and it was starting to break her heart. Is this what Stiles was feeling? Was he terrified that everyone he loved had moved on from his existence like he hadn’t mattered at all? If so, she’d spend forever proving him wrong. 

There was a faint light up ahead as the passage opened into another larger room. Once he crossed the threshold, Peter stepped out of her way. But even if Peter hadn’t moved she still would have know he was there.  

He was slumped against the far wall, his head in his hands, and Lydia was rushing to his side before she could think it through. 

“Stiles,” she whispered, trying to lift his head into her hands.

But he didn’t move. Nothing fazed him as she ran a hand along his arm. For a second she feared the worst. But she stopped at his wrist, and his pulse was faint but steady under her fingertips. 

She turned on Peter with fury. “What did you do?” 

“I told you. Stiles belongs here.” He said it like it was some boring fact he rattled off a list. “Everyone in his life forgot him, and when that happens you become nothing more than a shell of who you used to be.”

“I didn’t forget him,” she spat back.

“No, but you did cross over into our neck of the woods. Now there’s no one anchoring him to the real world. You were his last connection to his old life, and you severed it by coming to save him. It’s very Shakespearean.”

“Even if I did believe you,” Lydia said, looking back at the man. “Why haven’t you forgotten? Why aren’t you as mindless as the rest of them?”

“I could tell you that,” he replied flashing her a grin. “But I won’t. I have to leave some things to the imagination.”

She turned back to Stiles, as she threaded her fingers through his. Then she whispered. “Please. Stiles, I came all this way. I can’t leave you like this.”

The flashes came back again. The boy she loved dying in her arms. They fused together with all the times she feared for Stiles’ safety, creating a ball of fear and pain that sat in her chest. She was crying, tears falling hard against his arm. She couldn’t lose him like this. Not after everything they’d been through.

She hadn’t seen Peter push off the wall, nor had she heard the movement as he strode up behind her. But she did feel it as his claws pressed against her neck, threatening to dig in deep.

She froze in his grip, her blood pounding in her ears as he leaned closer. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you to pull this stunt? I was starting to doubt you’d ever come and get him yourself.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have turned my back on you.”

“That’s a wise thought, next time you might want to hold on to it for longer.” He blew out a breath and Lydia shuddered as it grazed along her cheek. “Granted there’s not likely to be a next time.”

She had to get Peter to let go, but she could already picture his claws across her throat if she tried to scream.

“Help me,” she muttered, as she squeezed Stiles’ hand, reaching out for the last thread of hope she had. 

Peter pulled his claws back, just far enough for her to struggle in his grip. But she could see them coming back down. And then in a gush of air he was flying back, smacking hard against the stone wall. 

Lydia took a step forward in confusion, but the pressure against her palm held her in place. 

“Don’t.”

She turned toward the voice, a cry building at the back of her throat when she looked down into the cool amber eyes before her. “Stiles!”

He was standing on shaky legs, but she didn’t care. The second he was upright she crashed into him, wrapping her arms around him as tight as she could. 

“Tell me I’m not dreaming this,” he said, pressing kisses against her hair. “Just tell me you’re real.”

All she could do was nod against his chest, too afraid that if she stopped touching him he’d vanish before her. 

“Stiles,” she whispered, pulling back a little to look at him. “How did you do that?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I just knew he was going to hurt you, and I couldn’t let that happen.”

He was holding on to her wrist when they both turned towards where Peter was tossed. The former alpha laid there unconscious. 

“We have to go,” he looked down at her. “Before he wakes up.”

Lydia almost didn’t want to leave yet. She wanted to see Peter suffer. She wanted to set him on fire over and over again,  and torture him tenfold for what he’d done to her. But Stiles was pressed to her side now. And the only thing she wanted more than Peter Hale’s head on a stick, was for everything in her world to finally feel right.

She looked away from Peter, her eyes focused solely on Stiles. “Let’s go home.”

\---

She watched him from the doorway. He was sitting in his chair, rotating slowly every few seconds. 

“You know,” she said, smirking when he turned to face her completely. “When  your friends throw you a ‘glad  your soul didn’t become part of ancient ritual’ party, it’s considered rude to hide in your room.”

“I needed a break,” he admitted, his eyes tracking her movements as she moved to sit on his bed. “Things were getting a little loud.”

They had talked about what it was like for him there. How empty and cold it had been. And even though he’d been back a week, he was still adjusting. 

Lydia reached her hand out, and Stiles rolled closer, letting their fingers intertwine. “If you want to be alone, I can go downstairs.”

He shook his head, moving so his legs were on either side of hers. They’d been doing this a lot lately, sitting so close they were practically in each other’s laps, but neither seemed to mind. “You’re kinda the only one I don’t get overwhelmed around, you know?”

And she did. After Eichen everything and everyone set her on edge, except for when she was with him. 

There was something about being this close to him, it was like a whole new level of intimate that she hadn’t even thought could exist. But she didn’t think it could ever be like this with anyone else. She was almost certain it would only ever feel this way with him.

“Can I ask you something?” she raised her gaze to his, and she watched him nod. “Do you think that you were able to push him away because of where we were or something else?”

“Honestly?” he questioned, running his thumb along her knuckles. “I think it was you, or you being in trouble. I felt like I was floating in this fog and when I heard you something just rippled out of me.”

“Do you think it will happen again?”

“You being in a life or death situation? Absolutely,” he teased. “But when it does I got your back, and I know you’ve got mine.”

“Yeah.” 

He moved into the space between them, his free hand going to rest on her cheek, and that was all Lydia needed before she cleared the rest of the gap, pressing her lips hard against his. Stiles responded in turn, kissing her with as much fervor and heart as he could manage. Her hands moved to hips, pulling him by his jeans until he was all but falling into her lap. But Stiles somehow managed to keep the chair steady, chuckling softly against her lips. 

“At least we know we're good at this,” he muttered, pulling back to catch some air. 

“Stiles.”

“You don’t have to say it.” His smile was so bright, she was sure she could live off it for eons. “We don’t need to define--”

“I love you,” she cut him off, pressing another quick kiss to his lips. “And I’m not saying this because I almost lost you. And I’m not just trying to put a label on what we are. I love you, Stiles. I can’t deny it or ignore it, not anymore.”

He was looking at her with reverence, his mouth failing to form words. 

“Now there’s a sight I never thought I’d see,” she joked, running her hand through his hair. “Stiles Stilinski, speechless.”

“I’ll love you forever ,” he said before kissing her again.

She didn’t need more words than that. She knew exactly what he meant. Stiles was it for her and she knew he felt the same. She would go to hell and back as many times as it took to make sure she never lost him again. 


End file.
